Experimental Cocktails
by KnightFury
Summary: Holmes has decided to experiment with a cocktail of drinks (because he was bored and cocaine is illegal in 22nd Century London). Rated T for obvious reasons - I do not condone drug usage or alcohol abuse.


Is it possible that I should have listened to Lestrade? I have never been in the habit of listening to Yarders, or females, and so I instinctively dismissed the female Yarder's words of advice from my mind the moment that she spoke them. But, even now, I suspect that she could be right.

Energy drinks taste foul - they are much too sweet - unnaturally so - and have no discernable flavour. I do not like the things. I do, however, like the way that they make me feel - especially when they are mixed with a little alcohol. They are not as good as cocaine (which I cannot legally partake of, even if I wished to), but the effect is similar and lasts considerably longer. I have been experimenting with them all night long and now feel younger than usual and almost invincible!

Having reached Baker Street from the public house, in which I have been conducting my experiment, in record time, I discover that Watson is already in bed and John the Robot is charging in the kitchen, for the front door is locked and the house both silent and dark.

It must be late, though I am not tired in the least; if I go in, I might disturb Watson, when I know only too well that he has his long day (half at college and half at the hospital) of training tomorrow. I decide to turn my steps in the direction of Regents Park.

As it so often is, even during daylight hours, the park is deserted. I partake of a few laps, enjoying the test of my speed, and then, upon growing bored of running in circles, I test my agility by all but leaping into a tree and climbing as high as I dare. Ah! I have missed this - I used to climb quite frequently, in my day.

Weary at last, I stop a moment to regain my breath. My head is beginning to feel oddly heavy, so I rest with my back to the trunk on a good, firm branch while I wait for the queer sensation to pass.

I awake with a start, almost losing my balance as I do so. Where the deuce am I? Why is it so dark? Why am I bobbing, however gently - am I at sea?

"Sherlock zedding Holmes! Answer me, for zed's sake!" an impatient female voice growls at me. "Watson 'n' John 're starting to worry 'n' I'm losing my zedding patience. If you don't answer right now, I'll have half the Yard out looking for you an' I won't give a flying zed how much it embarrasses you."

An unusual way of waking a fellow. I yawn and sniff before I answer the ranting device that I have clearly already taken from my pocket before fully waking. "Helloa?"

"Hi," Lestrade responds, the screen displaying her annoyed expression. "Why didn't you answer? And why's it so dark - I can't even make out an outline of you."

I conceal a second yawn. "I would appear to be sitting in a tree." Though the reason escapes me entirely.

"How the zed did you get up there?"

Must she swear so? "I climbed." That much is obvious - I can feel the scrapes and grazes on my hands and knees. I hope that I have not ruined my trousers.

"OK... Let me get this straight... You decided to go climb a tree, in the middle of the night, instead o' coming home."

"Yes."

"Can ya tell me why?"

I know a moment of crisis - 'I felt like it' or 'I have no idea' are not good answers. "I was watching a suspect," I eventually lie.

She raises her eyebrows. "O...K... So, why haven't ya got down? Are you stuck?"

"Pooh! Stuck! What nonsense!" I bluster. "Really, Lestrade, I am perfectly capable of climbing trees."

She snorts. "Yeah, sure. So 're cats - perfectly capable o' climbing, perfectly capable o' getting stuck as zed. Have you tried climbing back down, yet? No? Well, call me right back when ya do."

With that, she ends the call - not quickly enough, however, to keep me from catching the insult which she means to mutter behind my back. Charming!

I feel a little peculiar, I realise, as I begin to prepare for the descent to the ground. I cannot describe it - something like fatigue, yet somehow different. Clearly, the cocktails of energy drinks and alcohol has worn off. I may have to try it again, when I next face Moriarty...

With less grace than I should like, I make my way to the ground. I know where I am, by now, though I am still not quite sure how I came to wake in the branches of this tree. Perhaps odd things happen when alcohol is used - I shall try this experiment again, but keep strictly to the energy drinks, next time.


End file.
